


Lover's Quarrel

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [47]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Arguments, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, t for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21822541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick and Greg's first fight as a couple
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [47]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257824
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Lover's Quarrel

**Author's Note:**

> dear anons who keep sending me these asks of which I end up writing these drabbles/ficlets: y'all are truly bringing out the best in me

For such a laid back person, Greg had never assumed Nick would be such a control freak. 

_Everything_ had a place in his home, he seemed to take some sort of quick inventory every time he entered his abode, seemed to have a certain…possessiveness over the smallest of things–behavior that Greg would equate with an only child, rather than a child of seven. He was a very private person, after all, not much one for sharing.

So really, Greg should have known better than to take one of Nick’s shirts on his way out of the house on one hasty morning, when Nick was at the gym working out and Greg was running late for a court date, and when he returned, it looked like Nick’s apartment had been ransacked.

“Whoa, a tornado blow through here or something?” Greg asked as Nick was frantically tossing clothing behind him, low growled huffs breathing out of his nose. 

“One of my shirts…I just brought it back from the dry cleaner’s…” he muttered. 

At this point, Greg should have realized his mistake. Realized he was misjudging Nick’s “controlling” tendencies for what was, in all actuality, paranoia. 

But the stalker happened years ago, he should have been “over it” by now, right? 

If you can ever actually “get over” such a thing.

But Nick had told him once, the past was the past, there’s no changing it. Only moving forward, and maybe it was Nick’s seemingly mellow outlook on it all that made Greg forget how someone lived in his attic, wore his clothes, _watched him sleep,_ and that a missing shirt might give Nick cause for alarm that it was happening all over again.

Which, to a point, it was–Greg was living with him, more or less, though not in his attic. Greg watched him sleep, and oh, how beautiful Nick was on those occasions in which he actually _would_ get a good night’s sleep, wrapped up in each other’s embrace.

But he had _permission_ to do all of that. Consent. Which Nick seemed to take rather seriously, even going so far as to break off a few encounters if Greg gave him the slightest hint that he wasn’t enjoying it, constantly asking if he was okay as Nick tended to take the lead. 

And here Greg was, wearing his clothes, without his permission. 

It wasn’t the first time he had worn Nick’s clothing, of course, but those times, Nick had offered it to him. A jacket at a cold crime scene. A shirt after Greg spills something on his. A pair of pants after Greg gets an unfortunate rip in his. 

“Sorry, man, I was rushing, needed a shirt, I was gonna get it cleaned–”

“Just. Take it off,” Nick sighed, wiped a hand over his face as he saw the remnants of his own self destruction littered around him on the floor. 

“C-can I at least borrow one for the ride home?” Greg asked sheepishly as he gently handled the shirt. 

“No,” Nick said flatly, ripping the shirt from Greg’s hands. 

“At least let me help you clean this up–” 

“Just get out, Greg!” Nick snapped in a harsh, loud voice that made Greg flinch. He had gotten under Nick’s skin on more than a few occasions, pursed lips and cold shoulders dished out while really, internally, he knew Nick was just struggling because he wanted to give in to Greg’s advances, his flirting, but couldn’t, as he was trapped within a closet that he still had one foot in. 

He had seen Nick angry before, lashing out at suspects, even in a shouting match with Warrick before they quickly made up after sweating out their excess testosterone on a game of basketball. He had seen the silent fumes, the roaring explosions, but none of it was ever _because of him._

And no game of basketball was going to fix this.

Greg began to leave, his hand was on the door knob, when he turned back and walked back into Nick’s room. He met Nick’s eyes, his _furious_ eyes on fire underneath thick eyebrows knitting together a storm, as he picked up a shirt, and then another, and another and began to hang them up in the closet.

“What are you doing, Sanders? I said, _get out.”_

“I heard you,” Greg sneered back.

Nick grabbed one of the shirts from Greg’s hands, threw it to the ground. 

Greg bent down and picked it up. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you, braniac?” Nick spat in a harsh tone, as he once again grabbed the shirt, though this time, hanging it up before he spun Greg around, began to push him out of his room. _“Get the hell outta here!”_

“No!” Greg fell back into Nick’s grasp, twisted his body and weaseled his way out, diving between Nick and the door frame to enter the bedroom again. “No, you can’t do this.”

“Do what? Kick you out of _my house?”_

“You can’t just shut me out, Nick.”

“I–wh-what?” Nick sputtered incredulously. “Why do you think I’m shutting you out?” 

“You’re the one telling me to get out of here!”

“Yeah, cause you’e taking things that _don’t belong to you,”_ Nick hissed. 

“Look, why don’t we just…sit,” Greg suggested, sitting on Nick’s bed. “And talk about this?”

Nick crossed his arms with a scoff, instead.

“Talk about what? You stole my shirt.”

“Yeah, and that upset you.”

“Yeah, cause you _stole my shirt.”_

“Nick, this relationship isn’t gonna work if we can’t address these problems and work through them, rather than just lashing out and repressing them–”

Nick let out a cold laugh, walked himself over to a wall and leaned against it. 

“You sound like a fucking therapist, man.”

“I’ve been to a few, in my time. For other relationships that…didn’t work out. A-and I want this to work. I want _us_ to work.”

Nick ducked his head, then lifted it up with a nod as he uncrossed his arms, sat on the bed next to Greg. 

“I want this to work, too. I’m sorry I yelled at you, G.”

Greg took Nick’s hand in his own. 

“I’m sorry I took your shirt without asking.”

“Nah, you don’t need to ask,” Nick sighed. “Just…let me know, next time, that you nabbed one of my shirts.” 

“Deal.”

“You made it look better, anyway.” 

Greg chuckled and leaned against Nick’s shoulder, before he got up from the bed and pulled Nick towards the mess they created, and would fix, together. 


End file.
